61308
by Bleeding on the Ballroom Floor
Summary: Not really Harry Potter. See Author Info for explanation.


Looking around at the desolate train station, she second-guessed herself entirely, as she had for many decisions she had over the past week regarding this simple act with this simple person. That's what boys were: simple. She knew what she had inadvertently agreed to when she agreed to meet him in this godforsaken place, at this unholy hour. She knew exactly what she was doing. She just had no idea why.

Every shadow that moved past her made her jump. Every car headlight she saw (which was, admittedly, not too many) made her involuntarily gasp. Her stomach twisted in knots, though she'd tried to force herself to eat before she came. It may have been the breeze, or perhaps it was all in her head, but she was shuddering from the cold on an August morning, while wearing a sweater.

She hadn't quite gotten dressed up for the occasion. She wore the ratty, well-worn black sneakers she had for the past year or so; a pair of jeans that had been torn at the knees, splattered paint on, and washed too many times; an oversized black t-shirt that said "keep talking shit, you're making me famous"; and a grey hooded sweater, that was a good three sizes smaller than the shirt, with fraying threads and a broken zipper.

She looked around, wondering if he had expected her to come in something less casual. Or maybe just something less. Why was she here? It was a meeting with a friend, was all it was. She was taken anyhow. He knew that. It was one of his close friends. She let out a heaving sigh. Did he care? Had he ever? Even at the moment he found out they were dating, he had flirted with her. She had accepted it. It was the way their conversations went. But have they gone too far?

"Not yet," she told herself aloud, and at that moment, felt a hand on her waist. She turned into it, somewhat reflexive, placing herself so his arm was around her. Her hands remained in her pockets. He looked at her no different than he ever had. She tugged forcibly at the side of her lip and gave him a half-smile, which he returned with his usual smirk. It was a casual gesture, though she already felt odd about it.

"How about now?" he asked, though he couldn't possibly know what had been running through her mind, could he?

"Not yet..." she whispered, in a softer voice than she'd ever heard come out of her mouth.

With his arm possessively (protectively?) Around her waist, they walked down into the train station and found a spot with moderate tree and obstruction cover. No random passers by would see them, and the train wouldn't run again for another four hours or so.

He poked her lightly in the side. She jabbed him in the stomach. He chopped her hard just below her navel, and she could feel the organs it had affected and the bruising. She doubled over for a moment. He simply watched with an amused expression. Once she had returned to (mostly) full height, he rid them of most of the space between. They were nose to nose, eye to eye, chest to chest.

When he tried to move his face just a bit closer, she stepped back. _This isn't right. _But in the same way, she wanted him to take advantage of her. She wanted to feel it... but not have it on her conscience. It was best to, in all technicalities, have turned him down. It was better to say no, even if something happened anyway. It would be rape, perhaps, or molestation, but she'd have no law suit and no psychological damage. Win-win? Only for the sickest.

His immediate response to her moving away was to step close once again, and to cup her face in his hands. He kissed her lightly at first, but it got slowly more intense, and at the point where his tongue headed for her throat, she put her hands on his chest and stepped back, knowing to push him would be nearly impossible. She pursed her now-wet lips and stared hard at him.

"Not yet," she said, though sounding uncertain as she ever had.

He looked at her a moment, then said, smiling, "How about now?"

He stepped closer again, and as she stepped back, she became aware of something that frightened her immensely. He had backed her... or perhaps she had backed herself... into a wall, the side of the staircase going up and out, actually, but she was closer towards the stone siding that was the high wall indicating they were partially underground. She was more in a corner, and that became definite as his right side seemed to shift over slightly more, guarding her from the view of the tracks.

One step. Nose to nose. One breath. Lip to lip. Eyes closed. Tongues dancing.

She was okay with this. This could be passed off with an "I was drunk" or "He kissed me." This wasn't the end of it, though, not by far. She knew this boy too well, therefore, it was no surprise when one of his hands pulled down the zipper on her sweater. It stuck at the end, as it often did, being broken, but without missing a beat, he yanked it apart. She played helpless. It was all she could do. He seemed to like it, anyhow.

His hand cupped her face momentarily before pulling her sweater off at the shoulders. Her back lifted off the wall for a moment as the garment was carelessly tossed to the side, a rustling of leaves telling her it was in a bush now. She wasn't surprised to find she was no longer chilly. He pressed his body up against hers more now, causing her to sandwich between him and the wall.

His hands returned to her waist for a moment, then one slipped down her hip to her upper thigh where her shirt ended. His hand turned sideways, and she twitched as it rose, under her shirt, up her inner thigh and to her stomach, where hand met skin, causing another slight twitch. She put an arm around his neck and drew him closer, if possible. However, he used his free hand to swat it down. Giving room, he gathered both her hands by the wrists in one of his hands, and held them above her head.

He stopped the kissing to give a sinister smile, which she responded to with a mischievous flash of her bright hazel eyes. Her shirt came off seemingly of its own accord. Her bra, however, was a different story, cris-crossed in the back as he hadn't expected, he undid the latch, but the bra stayed on. It took his fingers a few moments of ravaging to figure out why. She had to admit, most guys wouldn't have had the mental capacity to figure that one out, but he apparently did, as he was taking the removable straps off of the bra entirely.

One dropped to the ground, then the bra itself, but the second strap, he was tying her hands up with. She could get out if she struggled enough, but she only struggled enough to make it interesting. Not only was this not a blatant public display of affection... sexual conduct, even... she was indecently exposed. There was something so wrong about this. Something so right, however cliche. Her hands were tied up above her head. She was topless. And she was in a train station.

He couldn't have been happier.

She could only see this getting better.


End file.
